On the eleventh day,
captivity begins
to work into the breathing.
One lung is a water hole,
the other — given such proximity
with the heart — supplies
the sound that gives the orphan
its torque for wreckage.

In the lounge,
faces are stained with light.
With its signal receiver
frizzled by recent lightning,
the television
has lost coherence.
Detached from reality,
it dreams in chasm & crackling snow.

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